


Forever

by Denise



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denise/pseuds/Denise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to So Shall it Be http://archiveofourown.org/works/450027<br/>Left behind at the SGC, Daniel seeks to solve an intriguing mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever

Title-  Forever

Author- Denise

Category- Drama

Season- 9

Spoilers – Avalon, Reckoning, Moebius, Heroes, Singularity, COTG, FIAD, Torment of Tantalus

Content Level – OLDER KIDS

Content Warning- Nothing really

 Left behind at the SGC, Daniel seeks to solve an intriguing mystery.

Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Sci-fi and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

 

 

Forever

By

Denise

 

 

 

 

 

 

"So, Area 51?" Daniel asked, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

 

Sam looked up, a sheaf of papers in her hands. "Yeah," she smiled.

 

"I thought you hated Area 51?" He pushed off the door and walked into her lab. The normally cluttered room was even more so. Boxes were piled in the corners and on every horizontal surface. Most of her shelves were empty and the computers were turned off.

 

"Hate is such a strong word."

 

"Dislike then."

 

"My issues have been more with the people than the place," she said, putting the papers into the box. She pulled more out as she talked.

 

"You know, I'm sure Jack could get stuff set up for you here," he suggested. "It's sorta silly to ship stuff all the way to Nevada."

 

"It's called not putting all your eggs in one basket," she replied. "Do you really want your tools to fight an alien invasion in the place they're probably invading?"

 

"Since when did the military do practical?" he quipped.

 

"It's something new we're trying." She stopped and frowned, studying him intently. "'It's just a TDY, Daniel."

 

"Then why are you packing everything but the sink?" he asked, batting at the dripping faucet.

 

"Daniel—"

 

"Sam, come on," he interrupted. "Why not stay here? Or study this stuff at Peterson or the Academy? You can't tell me that General Kerrigan wouldn't love to have you there."

 

"Neither place has the security that we need," she said. "Besides, change is a good thing."

 

"Good for who?"

 

"Cassie," she said bluntly. "Daniel, she hasn't…the last few months have been really tough on her."

 

"I thought she was doing ok," he said, frowning. He knew that Janet's death had hit her hard and that she'd moved in with Sam, his teammate finally getting the opportunity to be the parent to the girl that she'd wanted to adopt all those years ago. But he hadn't really heard much and just presumed that Cassie was handling things. Apparently his presumption had been wrong.

 

"All things considered but…"

 

"But?"

 

"It's hard to forget that someone you love has died when everyone else knows," she said meaningfully. "The one year anniversary hit her really hard. And when you mix that with the first year of college…" She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. "Besides, now that the goa'uld are all but gone, R&D's where all the fun is."

 

"They're not ALL gone," he corrected.

 

"They're as good as. Anubis is gone; he and Ba'al had pretty much defeated all the other system lords. Yu's dead—"

 

"Ba'al's still around," Daniel interrupted.

 

"We haven't heard from him in weeks," Sam said. "And haven't seen him since Dakara."

 

"That doesn't mean he's dead," Daniel insisted. "Goa'ulds are notoriously hard to kill."

 

"One system lord does not a threat make."

 

"You're quoting Jack," he accused. Sam didn't answer verbally but the glint in her eyes told him all he needed to know. "You're not going to come back, are you?" he asked.

 

"I'll be back. I just…I put my life on hold for eight years because of this. But this," She gestured at the messy lab. "Is going to go on whether I'm here or not." She stopped and looked at him, frowning. "I'm only two hours away, you know."

 

"By plane."

 

"We're the Air Force; we have a lot of those."

 

"You're Air Force, I'm not."

 

"There are at least two flights a day from Peterson to Nellis. I'm sure the general can get you on one. Besides, I thought you were looking forward to spending some time with Sarah."

 

"Sarah's in England," he said. "She wanted to spend time with her family."

 

Sam sighed. "Daniel, I'm sorry but…you could always go visit Teal'c," she suggested.

 

"Yeah, maybe." He gave up, realizing that she wasn't going to change her mind, and that he really didn't have the right to ask her to. She had a life and it wasn't her fault that he didn't. "When do you leave?" He kept his voice light, he owed her that much.

 

"Day after tomorrow." She made a face. "I still don’t know how I'll get everything packed."

 

"You need any help?" he offered.

 

"Really?"

 

"How many times have you packed up my place?"

 

"At least we didn't do it this last time," she said.

 

"And I'm grateful for that. Coming back from the dead is a real pain in the ass. Tomorrow morning?" he asked, not wanting to dwell on his latest encounter with the grim reaper…or the fact that he'd worn Sam's face. He could still feel the hot slicing of Replicarter's arm running him through. "I'll even bring breakfast."

 

"Then I'm buying lunch," she said, accepting his offer.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Twenty-four hours later, Daniel stood under the showerhead, letting the pulsating spray ease his tired muscles. Sam had a lot of stuff, a LOT. Most of which she was leaving here. He found that thought oddly reassuring. She'd have to come back to get her stuff.

 

He knew that it was silly to be so upset at the thought of his friend moving on. It wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

 

Teal'c was already living mostly off world, his quarters at the SGC held more as a courtesy then out of necessity. Jack was in Washington now, camping out in a leased brownstone while he decided if the Pentagon job was going to work out or if he'd retire---again.

 

Suddenly morose, Daniel turned off the shower, getting out and quickly drying off. He pulled on a pair of lounge pants and padded down the hall and into his living room. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a can of soda before plopping onto the couch. He contemplated what to do with his evening. Hell, what do to with the rest of his life? If Jack, Sam and Teal'c could move on, maybe he needed to as well.

 

His eyes landed on a stack of boxes in the corner. They were exactly where Siler had put them a few weeks ago. Daniel hadn't had time for too much more than a cursory look after he'd found the document detailing the location of the ZPM. He could do that, he thought, getting to his feet.

 

He picked up one of the boxes and brought it back to the coffee table. He pulled it open and started to go through the items.

 

Whomever Sabrina had used to pack up the artifacts had used care; each item was ensconced in a thick layer of bubble wrap. But they also apparently had no idea what they were packing up. Daniel unwrapped valuable original artifacts then cheap reproductions – things Daniel could only guess that Catherine had picked up as a souvenir or as a joke.

 

"I need to give this stuff to a museum," he muttered, staring at the eclectic collection littering the oak surface of his table. Catherine would like that. She always said that knowledge should be shared.

 

Separating the stuff in the first box into three groups – artifact, junk and not sure – he moved onto the second box, well aware that he'd barely make a dent in the boxes before he had to call it a night and go to bed.

 

The second box was heavier and mostly papers. He started to set the whole box aside knowing that it would take days to sort through them all when one sheaf caught his eyes.

It was wrapped in acid free paper and protected by cardboard backing, designed to insure that it wasn't bent.

 

Intrigued, he pulled the bundle out of the box and laid it on the table, carefully unfolding the paper revealing what looked to be papyrus sheets.

 

Mindful that his very touch could harm the sheets, he didn't pick them up, rather visually examined it. The papyrus looked old, it was dark brown and the edges looked frayed. The paper was slightly irregular, lacking the consistency of machine wrought material. The ink was faded in spots and it looked like it'd been written with a quill or some other blunt instrument.

 

He tried to identify the language, searching for familiar words or shapes. It wasn't Egyptian, at least it wasn't hieroglyphs, but some of the words were Egyptian. And some weren't. Others looked Greek and Roman and a couple even looked Sumerian. Which didn't make any sense considering that the cultures rarely crossed, at least not on paper. When a scribe wrote, they tended to write in only one language.

 

Maybe this was another of Catherine's souvenirs. Some joke, maybe a fake artifact. He had a professor who'd done that once, brought replicas to see if he could fool his class.

Daniel was ready to set the papers aside when a small shape caught his eyes. He raised the sheaf of papers, tilting them so that he could see better.

 

It couldn't be…could it? He stared for several seconds before accepting what his eyes were telling him. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his gaze riveted upon the familiar shape of a bottomless triangle with a circle perched on top.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Daniel knocked on the door, his eyes flitting across the empty nameplate. "Doctor Jackson, come in," General Hank Landry invited, looking up from his unpacking. "Here to lend me a hand?"

 

"Um, not really sir," Daniel said, frowning slightly at the invitation.

 

"Didn't think so," Hank said, sorting through a box of framed documents. "You would think, after all these years, I would learn not to collect things."

 

"It happens to the best of us," Daniel commiserated, still resisting the urge to tell the man to get the hell out of Jack's office.

 

Landry looked up, tilting his head. "Since you're not here to help me unpack, I can only guess that there's another reason for your visit," he said, abandoning his unpacking. He motioned for Daniel to sit down before sitting behind his own desk. "If you're here to ask for a bigger office, I should warn you that several others have beat you to it. And yours is already one of the larger ones we have."

 

Daniel shook his head. "No, I aah, my office is fine. General, I actually wanted to ask about some time off."

 

"This is probably not the best time," Landry said. "With Colonel Carter reassigned and Teal'c gone, you're our expert on the goa'uld."

 

"Who are all but defeated."

 

"And alien cultures."

 

"There are at least a half dozen team leaders who have just as much off world experience as I do."

 

"Not to mention your linguistic skills."

 

"When was the last time we ran across an alien race we couldn't communicate with?" Daniel shot back, struggling to keep his frustration under control. Damn, and he'd thought Jack was annoying.

 

"That's not the point, Doctor."

 

"General, it's not like I'm quitting, I just have some things to take care of."

 

"Things?"

 

Daniel thought fast. If this was Jack, he'd understand the importance of tracking down the papyrus document, but this wasn't Jack. And even though Jack had personally recommended Landry for this position, Daniel still didn't know him. And he couldn't trust who he didn't know. "Do you remember Doctor Catherine Langford?"

 

Landry frowned. 'The name is familiar."

 

"Her father found the Stargate in Giza. She led the team of scientists who first studied it."

 

"I remember now. Her fiancée was MIA for fifty years."

 

"There about," Daniel said, feeling a pang of sadness. At least Catherine and Earnest had a few years of happiness before death claimed them both. "Catherine passed away several weeks ago."

 

"It's a loss."

 

"Yes, it is," Daniel agreed. "I was named in Catherine's will—"

 

"You need time off to deal with that," Landry interrupted.

 

"You could say that," Daniel said, not correcting his presumption.

 

"My apologies, Doctor. I should have realized that your request was serious," Landry said contritely. "Of course you can have the time off."

 

"Thank  you," Daniel said, getting to his feet. He shook Landry's hand and left the office. Step one accomplished. Now all he needed to do was figure out where Catherine picked up her mysterious bits of papyrus.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Daniel stepped out of Lambert International Airport and paused for a minute, seeking to orient himself. The air was thick and humid, something that was normal in St. Louis, Missouri but not in Colorado. Traffic, both foot and car, was heavy, but what he'd expected to find at a busy international airport.

 

He hailed a cab and told the driver the address before settling back to enjoy the ride. Not willing to risk the papyrus sheets, he instead pulled the notebook containing his notes and translations out of his briefcase, using the travel time to refresh his memory one last time.

 

Catherine had made mention of them being a puzzle to her, something utterly mysterious that she had been unable to translate. Which was why she had kept them, hoping to eventually solve the mystery.

 

If only she'd asked him, he could have solved it easily.

 

The language was such a mystery because it didn't exist, well it did exist, but only in Daniel's mind. The language on the papyrus was Daniel's own creation, a game thought up and employed to amuse an inquisitive young boy while his parents toiled for hours on end at various digs around the world.

 

It was a language that he barely remembered, recognizing only a few words here and there, but one that he did know. He knew where it came from, but he had no idea how the hell it had ended up scrawled on papyrus thousands of years old. Papyrus that had to have found its way into Catherine's hands through one of her many contacts in the archaeological world.

 

It was a potential security breach, something that Daniel really should have spoken to General Landry about, something that he would have talked to Jack about. But he didn't want to just turn this over to some military investigators to dig into. He knew them, knew how they'd handle things. With all the grace and tact of a Jaffa raiding party.

 

And, Daniel feared, their investigations would just draw attention to the issue, which was the last thing they needed. If this papyrus was all that existed, then there was no breach. The words that were written down were words that he and he alone could read. And since he now had sole possession of the papyrus, he could hopefully consider the subject closed.

 

But if there was more…Daniel sighed and put the papers back into his briefcase as the cab pulled up outside a large home. He paid the driver and got out, taking a moment to study the house.

 

It was made of brick and looked to be very old, the bricks were soft at the edges, worn by decades of weather. The woodwork was painted white and Daniel could see that some of the glass in the house was thick and wavy, indicating that it was old and possibly original to the structure.

 

The yard was enclosed in a wrought iron fence and the lawn looked to be nice if a bit unkempt since the grass was sparse in places and overlong in others. He walked up the short driveway to the stately structure and rang the doorbell, listening as the chime echoed through the home.

 

Now that he was closer he could see other signs of age. The caulking was missing in places in the small windows flanking the door and the cement of the front steps was cracked and chipped. The door opened and he turned his attention forward.

 

An older woman stood there, one hand clutching the doorknob while the other hung loosely at her side. She was plump but not fat, her figure that of many older ladies, her waist thickened by the years and childbirth.

 

She had a pudgy stomach and the waist of her skirt was pulled high, resting just below her breasts. The blue striped shirt she wore was tucked into the navy skirt and sensible shoes pinched her ample feet. She was a lot shorter than Daniel, probably shorter than Janet and he had a perfect view of the top of her head, adorned simply with a neatly hair-netted bun.

 

"Mrs. Kessler?" he asked. "I spoke to you yesterday. My name is—"

 

"Donald Jackson," she interrupted.

 

"Daniel," he corrected.

 

"You're not Donald?"

 

"No."

 

"I'm expecting a Donald—"

 

"I'm Daniel. You probably just got the name confused and—"

 

"Doctor Daniel Jackson. We talked yesterday," she interrupted, clarity sparkling in her green eyes.

 

"Yes, we did," Daniel agreed, struggling to keep track of the conversation.

 

"Come in, come in," she invited, opening the door wide.

 

Daniel stepped past her, eager to gain admittance before the woman's mind wandered again. He studied the foyer. The floor was a slate tile and the walls were heavy white plaster. A few pieces of furniture stood in the hall, a small marble topped table and a large oak hall tree. There was a staircase at the far end leading to the upper floor and another door that led outside to the back of the house.

 

Like the outside, the inside had an air of neglect about it. A couple of the slate tiles were cracked and a cobweb fluttered off the corner of the hall tree. "I hope you don't mind me dropping in like this," he said, turning as Mrs. Kessler shut the front door.

 

"Of course not, young man," she said, walking slowly towards him. "Come." She motioned towards one of the doors and led him into a parlor type room. There was a small love seat and armchair, both upholstered in a brocade type fabric. They sat around a low table, its edges adorned with intricate carvings. Daniel followed Mrs. Kessler's motions and sat on the love seat, noting that the upholstery appeared original and was noticeably thread bare. As was the fine Persian rug on the hard wood floor. In fact, all the furnishings of the home looked to be genuine antiques that bore the marks of decades of use.

 

"Would you like some tea?" she offered, sitting down in the chair.

 

"Yes, thank you," Daniel accepted, more out of politeness than thirst.

 

She leaned forward and picked up a china teapot resting on a tray on the table. She tilted it to pour then frowned, taking the lid off the teapot. "Well bloody hell," she muttered. "Someone drank all my tea." She looked up at Daniel. "Did you drink my tea?"

 

Daniel shook his head. "No, I just got here," he said, realizing that he'd probably just wasted the better part of  a day.

 

"Yes, you did. Why did you come?"

 

"That's ok." Daniel started to get up. "I should be going and—"

 

"Nonsense," she interrupted. "You just arrived. Now what was it that you wished to speak to me about?"

 

Daniel sighed and reached into his bag. He'd spent most of the day getting here, the least he could do was to show the papers to the woman. He pulled out the sheaf of paper and laid it out on the table, gently shoving the empty tea set to the side.

 

Before deciding to travel with the delicate sheets of papyrus, he'd taken the precaution of encasing each one in a thin plastic bag stiffened with a acid free sheet of cardboard. It wasn't a perfect protection, but it would allow him to carry them around while limiting any damage to them. It also enabled him to touch the sheets and study them more closely than he could if he took the normal precautions.

 

"Do you remember Catherine Langford?" he asked.

 

"Catherine? Catherine…" She frowned and looked around the room. "I don't remember a…wait, I do remember her, the shameless hussy."

 

Daniel raised his eyebrows, not expecting to hear such a word applied to one of his friends. "Hussy?"

 

"Why yes, she made a spectacle of herself, chasing after all the men, talking to them of such things. She never did know her place, that one."

 

Daniel bit back a grin, now amused by the woman's words. "She did have a bad habit of that," he said. "I'm sorry to say that Catherine passed away a few months ago."

 

"She did? How tragic," Mrs. Kessler said. "Although it was probably time, she was at least a year older than I was. Something she always reminded me of, thinking that just because she was older that she was permitted to tell me what to do."

 

"So you spent a lot of time with her?" Daniel asked.

 

"Of course. She liked my father's collection."

 

"Collection?"

 

Mrs. Kessler smiled. "Yes." She got to her feet. "Back here." She walked past him and led him back out into the hall and under the stairs. Opening a door and pulling on a string, she turned on the light, the bare bulb revealing plain wooden steps. He followed her down into the basement. The walls were stone, obviously original to the house but the floor was newer, poured concrete, swept clean.

 

Wood and glass display cases lined the room, three on each side and one shrouded one against the far wall. Each of them held neatly displayed items. Daniel stared, leaving Mrs. Kessler's side to explore the cases. He recognized an assortment of canopic jars and alabaster carvings. Tokens and amulets, bits of papyrus and pieces of textiles. "These are real," he said, turning to look at her.

 

"Of course they're real," she said. "Wouldn't be much reason to keep them if they weren't."

 

"How…the Egyptian government—"

 

"Had little to no control over what people took with them a hundred years ago," she said.

 

"So your father—"

 

"Grandfather."

 

"Grandfather, brought these items from Egypt?"

 

Mrs. Kessler shook her head. "Not all of them." She walked over to a bookcase and pulled put a large scrapbook, letting it on top of one of the display cases. "In 1904, my grandfather was in charge of the Worlds Fair. One of the exhibitions was of Egyptian artifacts. Howard Carter himself came and helped us. That's where Catherine came from, her father had an interest in Egypt. My word, they would sit in that parlor for hours, discussing theories and gods and ideas. It was so boring."

 

Daniel stared, his amazement growing. "These are some of Howard Carter's artifacts?"

 

"Some," Mrs. Kessler confirmed. "Although when he was here he wasn't as famous as he became twenty years later. Other items were from another friend of my grandfather, a Sir James."

 

"Sir James?" Daniel asked.

 

"An odd man. I think Catherine had a crush on him."

 

"Um, I hate to bring this up but…Catherine was born in 1919," Daniel said.

 

"Of course she was. I was born in 1920, nine months after my father came home from the Great War," Mrs. Kessler replied indignantly. "Sir James helped my grandfather set up the expedition in 1904, then he came back regularly to visit. Personally I think Catherine fell in love with his accent."

 

"Accent?"

 

"He was British," she said as if the term explained it all. "Quite dapper."

 

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand," Daniel said. "So Catherine spent some time here when she was younger. What does that have to do with the papers that I have?"

 

"It has everything to do with them, young man," she said. "Where do you think she got them from?"

 

"Those papers came from this collection?" Daniel asked, looking around again.

 

"Yes, Sir James gave them to Catherine himself. He said that he found them with this." She walked past Daniel and over to the shrouded case, drawing back the cloth with a flourish.

 

Daniel felt his jaw drop, not quite believing his eyes. "How did you get this?" he asked, walking reverently over to the mummy.

 

It was Egyptian, he could tell that. The desiccated corpse was wrapped in discolored linen, looking remarkably like a prop from a movie. A few fingers on one of its hands was bare as was part of its face, the dried skin pulled garishly away from white teeth, making it look like he was sneering.

 

"As I said, many years ago all it took to bring artifacts from Egypt was to cross the correct palms with silver," she said. "He has been here for many years," Mrs. Kessler said, her voice fond. She caressed the case, looking down at the mummy. "I've grown quite fond of him. I call him Kalid."

 

"Any idea who he is?" Daniel asked, his mind reeling at the implications that one of Egypt's kings could have spent the past century in a basement in St. Louis, Missouri.

 

"He was no king," Mrs. Kessler said. "Sir James was adamant about that."

 

"Sir James found him?"

 

"Yes. He found Kalid's tomb and he brought him over here, to be displayed in the Fair. But my grandfather was afraid that the visiting dignitaries would take offense, so they chose to keep Kalid a secret."

 

"So those papyrus sheets I have, they were found with this mummy?" Daniel asked.

 

"Of course. I wanted to keep them with Kalid, but Catherine would have nothing of it. She took them away." Mrs. Kessler huffed. "I refused to speak to her after that."

 

"I'm sure Catherine didn't mean anything by it," Daniel said, moved to defend his friend even while his mind swirled with the possibilities.

 

"That's easy for you to say, she did not steal one of your family heirlooms," Mrs. Kessler insisted.

 

"But you said Sir James gave it to her."

 

"Still, she should have left it here. It belonged to Kalid," she insisted.

 

"Of course it did," he said, sacrificing the truth to ease the woman's mind. But even as he hoped to calm her his mind was reeling. Something told him that Kalid and the papyrus were linked. And to solve one mystery, he'd have to solve the other.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

#flashback#

 

A black and white patterned ball bounced past and Daniel looked up, relieved that it hadn't hit him. The playground was a dangerous place to be during the long lunchtime recess. It was the only time of the day when most of the grades mingled at New York Public School Five.

 

Some of the third graders were playing tag in one corner of the asphalt playground while the fifth and sixth grade classes were engaged in a game of kick ball.

 

It was their ball that Daniel was watching, the very nature of their game meaning that they constantly kicked the ball across the playground where it became a hazard for all to avoid.

 

He'd join every so often, but only when they were short handed. He was only in the fourth grade and, while he could do ok, didn't have enough skill to make his participation sought after.

 

He really didn't mind, he much preferred to spend his recesses reading or writing. He'd try to read during class but most of the teachers didn't understand that he wasn’t not paying attention out of disrespect but out of boredom. All too often he found that most of what they taught he already knew.

 

A part of his pride wanted to speak out, to prove to them that he wasn't like the others. That Mrs. Mitchell had been right, that he was special. Of course, listening to Mrs. Mitchell had led to his social worker getting him pushed ahead a grade. That was an experience he never wanted to repeat. Which was why he was careful, very careful to walk that fine line between appearing dumb and coming across as too smart.

 

He wanted everyone to think that he was normal. Normal was a good thing.

 

"Ooh, tell me a story!" Phil crowed, snatching the sheets of notebook paper out of Daniel's hands.

 

"Give it back!" Daniel said, not bothering to raise his voice. Phil had been picking on him since he'd joined this school a year ago. Ever since Daniel had won the school spelling bee.

 

The rest of the kids ignored them, just as they tended to ignore most of the other personal squabbles on the playground. One way to survive was to not get involved.

 

"Ten camels plodded across the sah---sah---sarah. Who's Sarah?" Phil asked, his rough New York accent making his voice sound brusque and grating.

 

"Sahara," Daniel clarified. "It's a desert."

 

"Who wants to cross a desert? It's too hot."

 

"Actually, once you get used to it, it's not that bad," Daniel said, fondly remembering his time with his parents on their last dig. The one right before….

 

"That's stupid!" Phil declared. "It's a stupid place to live and only stupid people would live there."

 

The bell rang signaling the end of recess. Daniel got to his feet and snatched the papers away from Phil, not caring when part of one ripped. "Those stupid people built the pyramids and had a written language when your ancestors were too stupid to build a fire," Daniel said, not caring that he was likely earning himself another beating.

 

He hurried back inside, well aware that there would be a price to pay for besting Phil. But he didn't care, he'd enjoyed it too much.

 

Daniel sat down at his desk, carefully smoothing out the creases in the paper. Staring at his written words an idea occurred to him and a grin crept across his face. He picked up his pencil and began to draw, the memories of another time, another life slowly returning.

Phil would steal his stories again. But he'd look really dumb when he couldn't even read them.

 

#end flashback#

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Daniel opened his eyes, the memories of decades ago fading as he woke. He blinked blearily, sighing as his eyes took in the now familiar hotel walls. He stretched, his feet dangling off the edge of the king sized bed.

 

He hadn't had that dream in years. He craned his neck, glaring balefully at the stack of papers on the desk. He knew why it was resurfacing now. In fact, after spending the past three days trying to translate the papyrus he'd be surprised if he wasn't remembering things.

 

The problem was, even after three days of translating, he was no closer to discovering the importance of the papyrus than he was in the beginning. He knew that whomever had written it had been important, or had thought of himself that way.

 

The man claimed to have been a member of King Menes court. Of course, he also claimed to have served as midwife to Nithotep, Menes wife, through a particularly complicated delivery. Which was an aspect of the whole thing that didn't make much sense. Midwives were usually women, even royal midwives.

 

That, along with the fact that a lot of the language and syntax was wrong, was leading Daniel to think that maybe the papyrus was a fake.

 

Daniel pushed back the covers and got out of the bed. Picking up the small carafe of the provided coffee maker he padded into the bathroom and got some water from the sink.

While he waited for the coffee to brew, he sat down at the small desk. The hotel was basic even though it was part of a national chain. His suite consisted of a king sized bed, desk and chair, a recliner and a TV set. His laptop sat to the side and he'd consulted it more than once to refresh his memory. He hadn't originally been planning to stay in St. Louis when he'd arrived, so one of his trips the first night had been to hit a discount store and get some clothes and toiletries to tide him over.

 

He still didn't know precisely why he'd cancelled his return flight and not returned to the Springs. He denied the idea that maybe he didn't have all that much to go back to anymore. For the first time in years he found himself seriously considering moving on.

He had enough contacts to get a job teaching even if it'd likely be an entry level position with a low salary. Nine years of hazard pay added up and, if he budgeted wisely, he could be comfortably set for life.

 

And there was also the research field. He could check with some of Catherine's old friends, see if one of them had a dig that he could work. That actually sounded oddly appealing, to go off to the back of beyond, to find a place that barely had electricity not to mention phones. It'd be the next best thing to moving off world.

 

The coffee finished and he poured himself a cup, pushing his pipedreams aside for the papyrus. He'd have plenty of time to plan for his future. He wanted to solve this mystery first.

 

He picked up the fifth and final sheet. He'd saved this one for last, not only because it'd been on the bottom of the stack but because it was slightly different from the others. The letters and glyphs were more clumsily formed, the ink strokes weak and uncertain.

A few of the words were scratched out as though the author had made a mistake. It was something Daniel had never seen before.  Papyrus was a rare commodity in ancient times and so each word was usually carefully thought out and crafted.

 

He read over the faded words, his mind supplying the translation quicker now that he was more familiar with the language. Words leapt off the page and he leaned forward, his mind not quite believing what his eyes were telling him.

Daniel set down his coffee, not even feeling it when the hot liquid scalded his fingers. He had to see that mummy again. And he had to see it now.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Annabeth Kessler sorted through her mother's belongings, picking out the personal items to share with her brother. Her mother had a lot of junk, way too much junk. Junk Annabeth had tried to get her to throw away over the years only to be confronted with 'You didn't live through the depression, dear. You don't know what it was like.'

 

"Maybe I didn't mom, but now I have to deal with it," Annabeth muttered, looking around the cluttered room. Fortunately, her brother wasn't in the mood to be greedy, he was content to let her handle things. He agreed with her decision to simply pull out Mother's personal items and let the auctioneer handle the rest. Of course, Richard probably had no idea just how much personal stuff Mother had.

 

Annabeth opened the hutch and sighed when she saw the stacks and stacks of paper. "Mother," she moaned, shaking her head. She pulled them out and sneezed due to all the dust she dislodged. The doorbell rang and she gratefully got to her feet, seeking a distraction.

 

She opened the door and frowned, not recognizing the man. "Yes, can I help you?"

 

"Umm, I'm sorry. I'm looking for Mrs. Kessler," he said, staring at her.

 

"I'm Mrs. Kessler."

 

"No, I'm sorry. I…I was here a few days ago. I talked to an older woman…"

 

"My mother," Annabeth sighed. "Look, if she said she'd buy something—"

 

"No, it's not that. I'm sorry, did something happen to Mrs. Kessler?"

 

"Who are you?" Annabeth asked, crossing her arms across her chest. He was a nice looking man, probably in his late thirties or early forties. His face was tanned and his dress was casual, jeans and a polo shirt – but his hair was messy, looking like he's just crawled out of bed.

 

"My name is Doctor Daniel Jackson and –"

 

"You're from the museum," she interrupted. "They said they'd send someone but didn't know who." She opened the door wider, inviting him in.

 

"The museum?" he asked, stepping across the threshold.

 

"You have to understand, I have only Mother's word that his stuff is even real," she said leading him down to the display room. "I was going to just let the auctioneer sell it but Mother wouldn't hear of it."

 

"So, she's ok?" he asked, following her down the stairs.

 

"She's fine," Annabeth reassured him. "Well, other than the obvious," she clarified, turning to look at him.

 

"Obvious?"

 

"She's nutty as a fruitcake," Annabeth said bluntly. "Or to quote my brother, her reality check bounced. We finally got her to agree to check into a care facility," she said. "But, to pay for that, we need to get rid of all this."

 

"Get rid of it?"

 

"The auctioneer is due later today. I just need to weed out the personal stuff and I'll leave the rest to him. With the exception of any of this that your museum might want, of course." She smiled at him. "The Kesslers have always believed in giving back to the city."

 

"Yes." He smiled. "You've done such wonderful things." He walked past her and made his way over to the mummy's case. "You're willing to donate this?"

 

"I sincerely doubt anyone would want a dried up old body," she said, averting her eyes as he drew back the shroud. "That thing creeps me out. As a matter of fact, it's why I haven't spent a night here in years. If you want it, you can have the damned thing. You can have all of this. All I want is acknowledgement of my family's gift and documentation to give to the accountant so that we can get the correct deductions on Mother's taxes."

 

"I'm aah, I'm sure that we can work something out," he said, his gaze fixated on the case.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Major General Jack O'Neill got out of the rental car and put on his cover, taking a moment to study his surroundings. He was in the outskirts of St. Louis in a part of the city that still resembled the past.

 

The buildings were old and quaint and Jack was pretty sure that the courthouse was the original one, probably build over a century ago. He made his way op the long sidewalk, mentally preparing himself.

 

Small town sheriffs were a notoriously touchy bunch, usually in one of two groups. The nice guy with a heart of gold or the bumbler, using his badge to augment his manhood. Either way, Jack knew how to deal with them. For the former, he'd appeal to the man's patriotism. If he was the latter, he'd simply have to out title the man.

 

Jack stepped inside, taking off his cover and his sunglasses in one smooth movement. No matter which tactic he had to employ he knew that his dress blues would give him an advantage.

 

The interior of the building was much like he'd expected, white marble floors and walls decorated with large oil paintings of important historical moments. Huge wrought iron chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, providing the only illumination other than a few stained glass windows.

 

Jack easily found the sheriff's office and walked through the open door. From the looks of things, all the county offices were in this building, which would definitely make things easier if Jack actually had to bail Daniel out.

 

"Can I help you?" a young woman asked, looking up from behind a desk. She had a heavyset figure and thick brown hair twisted back in a bun. She was wearing a normal black police uniform.

 

Jack smiled, turning on the charm. "I'm looking for Sheriff Matthews," he said. "Is he in?"

 

"No."

 

"Any idea where I can find him?"

 

"Columbia," she replied. Jack raised his eyebrows. "Sheriff Kevin Matthews is the sheriff of Columbia. If you're looking for the sheriff of this parish, I'm Carrie Matthews."

 

"I'm sorry, I just assumed—"

 

"Of course you did," she interrupted. "You're here for Doctor Jackson?" she asked, getting to her feet.

 

"What gave it away?" Jack asked, turning on the charm.

 

She rolled her eyes and pulled open a desk drawer, picking out a ring of keys. "Surprisingly enough, very few people that I arrest make their one phone call to the Pentagon," she said wryly. "Mrs. Kessler says that he impersonated being from the local museum while Doctor Jackson says that he did no such thing. He claims that she made an assumption—one that he didn't correct." She paused just outside the solid door. "Since everything was recovered I'm willing to just let the matter drop," she said. "Presuming, of course, that Mrs. Kessler agrees." She unlocked and opened the door, standing aside. "Take as long as you want."

 

"Thank you," Jack said, stepping into the cell area. It had three holding cells, one of which was empty, one had some sort of case in it and the third held one rather rumpled looking archaeologist. "Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. I leave you for a few weeks and what do you do? Fall into a life of crime."

 

Daniel looked up and jumped to his feet. "Jack! Thank god you're here."

 

"God didn't have much to do with it," Jack drawled. "Get your stuff and we'll get out of here."

 

"Mrs. Kessler's dropped the charges?" Daniel asked, picking up his brief case.

 

"Yes. You give her back her stuff and she'll not press charges," Jack said.

 

"That's—No!" Daniel exclaimed, frowning furiously.

 

"Daniel—"

 

"Jack, she can't have it back."

 

"It's her mummy, or her mommy's mummy," Jack reminded.  "And while we're on the subject, of all the things you could have stolen, you had to steal a body? This is creepy, even for you."

 

"Jack, we cannot let her have Kalid."

 

"Kalid?"

 

"That's what Mrs. Kessler, the older Mrs. Kessler calls the mummy," Daniel explained.

 

"Riigghhttt," Jack drawled skeptically, wondering if the charming Sheriff Matthews had whacked Daniel on the head.

 

"Damnit Jack!" Daniel exclaimed stalking across the cell. He pushed open the door. "What? It's not like I'm dangerous," he said in reply to Jack's glare.

 

"That's debatable."

 

"Read this," Daniel ordered, shoving a notebook into Jack's hand.

 

_#flashback#_

_I promised myself that I would never write about them, but I feel that I have to. I can't let their sacrifice go unnoted._

_It's been forty years since they died._

_Forty years since I found them in the charnel pit._

_Forty years since I destroyed their bodies._

_Forty years since the others came, confirming my greatest fear, that it had all been for nothing. That we had failed, that the future was still broken._

_All I have left now are memories and I can't let those fade._

 

#End flashback#

 

"It's tragic," Jack said. "What the hell does it have to do with you stealing a mummy?"

 

"It's not just a mummy!" Daniel pulled the paper out of Jack's hand and stalked over to the other cell. He dramatically pulled back the drape. "These are his words," Daniel declared, banging his finger on the glass. "He wrote this."  
  


"I'm happy for him but—"

 

"This is me!"

 

Jack stared, caught a bit off guard by his friend's passion. "I'm, I'm not seeing the resemblance," Jack said, looking at the fragile and withered form.

 

Daniel sighed. "This mummy was found over one hundred years ago. With it was found some sheets of papyrus. Papyrus that Catherine got her hands on but could never translate. Papyrus that I inherited."

 

"So this is another wild goose chase?"

 

"No," Daniel corrected. "This is not a wild goose chase. It's a security leak the size of Southeast Asia. Jack, this mummy is me. Remember how Sam said that we didn't have to go back in time, that everything was fine?"

 

"Vaguely," Jack said, resigning himself to humoring Daniel.

 

"We didn't have to go back in time because we already had, and he is proof."

 

"This creepy thing – that desperately needs moisturizer by the way – is you?"

 

"He is me. All the way down to his appendectomy scar, three crowns and six fillings, none of which existed in Ancient Egypt," Daniel said.

 

Jack sighed. "And he has all that?"

 

"He does. Along with some incredibly modern DNA. That is why they can't have his mummy. Look, Jack, maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so."

 

"What do you need?" Jack asked, acknowledging the seriousness of the issue. If Daniel was right his crunchy little friend could be a security leak that could make Carter's cop look like a little oops.

 

"We need to know for sure. My DNA is on file. We can test his. If it's not a match then he can go to a museum. But if he is—"

 

"How exactly am I supposed to get Mrs. Kessler to just hand him over? She seems rather attached," Jack said, cutting to the crux of the issue.

 

Daniel's eyes darted around the cell and Jack could almost see the gears in his brain turning. "A virus."

 

"A virus?"

 

"Viruses can lay dormant for centuries, even millennia. That's even on theory about the curse of Tut. That Carter's group accidentally released some virus when they opened the tomb."

 

"And she's going to believe this?"

 

"Coming from a trustworthy person like you? Why wouldn't she?"

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

Daniel leaned forward, his nose nearly pressed against the glass of the observation level. Below, Doctor Brightman and her assistant were examining the mummy. It was bizarrely surreal to watch them examine his own desiccated remains.

 

"He's remarkably well preserved," Brightman said, the intercom making her voice sound tinny.

 

"The Egyptians were unrivaled at mummification," Daniel said.

 

"The cranium seems to be empty," she said, reading the images off the MRI screen.

 

"That's how it should be. They empty out the skull and most of the internal organs."

 

"Most?" She looked up at him, her face obscured by a surgical mask.

 

"All but the heart."

 

"That's fitting I guess."

 

"They dry the body out with hundreds of pounds of salt, externally and inside the chest cavity," he said, relaying his research.

 

"Doctor Jackson, I'm not sure if we'll be able to get a viable DNA sample from him," she said. "With a body this dried, I don't know if I'll be able to get enough of a sample to run a comparison."   Doctor Brightman studied the screen for a few seconds. "Doctor Jackson, how many crowns did you say you had?"

 

"Three."

 

"Upper left, lower left, lower right?"

 

Daniel's tongue probed his mouth, encountering the smooth surface of the crowns. "Yep."

 

"This is probably you then," she said, looking up at him.

 

Daniel sat back in the chair, the confirmation of his supposition not quite the relief he'd expected it to be. In fact, he'd wanted to be wrong. Wanted that shadow of a doubt. He wanted a reason to hope that Kalid's story was wrong.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

#Flashback#

 

I killed Teal'c today. Or to be accurate, I killed A Teal'c.

 

This man wasn't my oldest friend, the one who killed Shau'ri and took Skaara. This Teal'c was different. He never fought for freedom or inspired a rebellion.

 

I've only known him for a handful of years but he was still my closest friend and confidant these past five years.

 

He wasn't sick. He wasn't injured. He was perfectly healthy.

 

But he was out of time.

 

_"Daniel Jackson, I must speak to you."_

_Daniel looked up, blinking in the flickering fire light. "Teal'c. Hey, I wanted to talk to you. K'htep and his men are almost done with the last segment of the cover stone. I think we can see about placing it next week."_

_"That is indeed good news," Teal'c said. "I regret that I shall not witness the completion of our task."_

_Daniel looked up, a sense of dread settling in his gut. "It can't be time."_

_"It is indeed," Teal'c said seriously. "My primta grows more agitated each day. I fear that it will soon not be content with residing in my womb."_

_"You've been working hard. Maybe if you could Kelnoreem more," Daniel suggested, grasping at any possibility he could think of._

_"No amount of meditation shall change reality," Teal'c said. "We must preserve your planet's time line. You must kill me," Teal'c said, holding out a zat._

_"Teal'c—"_

_"Daniel Jackson, we cannot risk my primta taking me as host. If I was aware of the identity of someone else of whom I could ask this boon, I would," he apologized._

_"Yeah," Daniel sighed. He got to his feet and held out his hand, taking the zat from Teal'c. "Is there anywhere—"_

_"It would be best if none were to witness this weapon," Teal'c said. In many ways he was even more diligent about maintaining Earth's timeline than Daniel was._

_In the past few years he had done all he could to minimize his appearance as a Jaffa. He wore the same robes as all the others and customarily covered his tattoo. He worked hard to fit in with the natives. About the only thing he didn't do was to take a wife. Which was something Daniel hadn't done either. And couldn't._

_Teal'c held his hands out at his side, standing submissive in front of Daniel. "I wish to thank you for granting me sanctuary on this planet," he said. Daniel nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. "Do not fear causing me pain, Daniel Jackson. You are granting me my greatest wish."_

_Daniel nodded again. "May your journey to Kheb be swift."_

_"Dal shaka mel."_

_Daniel squeezed the trigger, his stomach churning as Teal'c fell to his knees, his face twisting in agony. He fired a second and then third time and was alone in the tent._

_Daniel stared at the empty space for a few seconds before closing his eyes, a lone tear sliding down his cheek._

_Alone._

_Once again he was alone._

_And he took no comfort in the knowledge that, this time, he was the executioner._

#end flashback#

 

"Doctor Jackson?"

 

Daniel shook his head, clearing his mind. "General," he said, glancing up at Landry.

 

The general pulled up a chair and made a show of sitting down. "What's the verdict?"

 

"I…I was right," Daniel said.

 

"You don’t sound too happy about it."

 

Daniel shrugged. "Being right's not all it's cracked up to be."

 

"What are you going to do with it?" Landry asked.

 

"I don't know," Daniel replied honestly.

 

"I'm sure there are people who would love to study it."

 

"Oh, I have no doubt," Daniel agreed.

 

"Although that's got to be weird," Landry continued. "A five thousand year old version of yourself lying in some lab on a slab. People picking you apart. They might write a paper."

 

Daniel frowned, looking at the man. "Whose side are you on?" he asked. He'd expected the general to push him to preserve the mummy for further study, to encourage him to ship it off to Area 51.

 

"His." Landry nodded towards the window. "I have a funny feeling that he didn't want this."

 

"I've been doing some research. King Menes, who was also known as Narmer and his Queen, Nithotep had a son, Aha. Tshet, who was one of King Menes most trusted advisors. The theory is that this Tshet helped Menes unite the two halves of Egypt. He's even on this stone carving called a palette. That's pretty rare."

 

"You think this mummy was Tshet?"

 

"It's possible," Daniel agreed. "Something like that could be enough for the king to have him mummified. Especially if he wanted him around for his next life."

 

"Fascinating," Landry drawled. "Still doesn't tell me what you want to do with him."

 

"Doctor Jackson." Doctor  Brightman's voice broke into their conversation. Daniel turned his attention back to her. "I think you need to see this."

 

The mummy was now out of the MRI machine and she had cut away some of the fragile linen that he was wrapped in, seeking a way to obtain a tissue sample for her DNA analysis.

 

The exposed skin looked like dry leather, brown and crumbly looking. She held a small bundle in her hands. "Is this typical?"

 

"What is it?" he asked, not able to get a good look at it from the observation room.

 

"I don't know. This looks like hair."

 

"Oh my god," Daniel muttered, getting to his feet. "I'm sorry, General, I have to see this."

 

Landry nodded, also standing up. "Go ahead Doctor." Daniel turned to leave the room. "Doctor?"

 

"Sir?"

 

"Final disposition of the…specimen, is at your discretion. Just let me know what you decide. Jack and I will make it happen."

 

"I will, thank you."

 

Landry left the room and Daniel stared after him for a second, surprised not to have to fight for control over Kalid.

 

"Doctor?"

 

Brightman's prompt spurred him on and Daniel hurried from the observation room and down into the isolation room. He quickly donned the disposable gown, mask and gloves Brightman had mandated and entered the room.

 

He walked over to her, averting his eyes from Kalid's exposed flesh. "Maybe I've watched too many movies," she said. "But I was sorta expecting something a bit more flashy."

 

She held out the tiny bundle and Daniel carefully took it, aware that it was likely fragile. "I've never seen anything like this," he said, examining the item. In the center was something that looked like human hair, wrapped in a small piece of torn linen and tied with a leather thong.

 

"Human hair, presuming that is human, keeps its color after death," Brightman  said.

 

"Huh?" Daniel pulled his attention back to her.

 

"If that's human hair, it doesn't look gray."

 

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, picking out a bit of a golden hue in the strands.

 

"There weren't very many blonds in Egypt five thousand years ago," she said.

 

"No, there weren't," he agreed, the implication picking at the back of his brain.

 

_It's been forty years since they died._

_Forty years since I found them in the charnel pit._

_Forty years since I destroyed their bodies._

 

 

"Stop," he said.

 

"Doctor?"

 

"Please, stop your examination."

 

"Are you sure? We still haven't confirmed his identity."

 

"Yes, we have. Cremate him." Brightman's eyes went wide. "General Landry's given me the authority to oversee his disposition. Cremate him and give me the ashes."

 

"Ok," Brightman agreed.

 

Daniel nodded his thanks and left the room, the small bundle still clutched in his hands.

 

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

 

Three days later, Daniel knelt in front of a large flat rock high up on Cheyenne Mountain. He pulled three items out of the bag he was carrying, setting them carefully on the rock. He glanced up, eyeing the setting sun. picking up the brass bowl he brought, he set Kalid's bundle into it.

 

He pulled out a box of matches and slid it open, striking the match on the box. He carefully shielded the flame, using both hands to lower it to the bundle. The ancient linen caught fire easily, flashing bright in the dwindling light. The hair burned more slowly, the dry, pale strands curling as they melted.

 

The aged leather lasted the longest, glowing a bright red as it was slowly consumed by the flame. A light breeze stirred the dry grasses in which Daniel knelt and the soft swishing sound was a perfect counterpart to the slight hiss of the leather burning.

Finally, it was gone and nothing was left but a few scattered ashes.

 

He picked up the third item, the plastic bag pathetically light in his hands. He untwisted the wire tie and opened the bag. He carefully dumped Kalid's ashes into the bowl and shoved the empty bag back into his pocket. He picked up the bowl with both hands, holding hit high over his head.

 

 

"You are young again, you live again, you are young again, you live again, forever."

 

 

Daniel intoned the ancient prayer of the dead as the rising wind scooped the ashes out of the bowl, scattering them across the mountain, creating a thin grey fog.

 

He lowered the bowl as soon as it was empty and stared at it, the last fading rays of the sun making the copper glow a dull, warm red. It looked as if he was holding the sun itself in his hands.

 

The dun dropped below the horizon and Daniel sighed, the bowl turning back to its normal state.

 

He slid it back into his bag, pausing to look around. "Rest in peace, Kalid," he said.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a now familiar number, starting to make his way back down the mountain before the last bits of twilight faded. "Jack, hey, I'm glad you're still there," he said as soon as the phone was answered. "Look, I need a few favors. How do I see about catching a hop to Nellis and Andrews? No, not at the same time. I just want to come visit, check out yours and Sam's new offices." He stepped around a stump and got onto the trail. "What's the fun of you being 'the man' if you can't get a few favors for one of your loyal advisors? No, I haven't been drinking. Really? It's that easy? Great, have any plans for this weekend? I'll even bring the beer."

 

 

~Fin~

 

 


End file.
